


Points of Contact

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Post-Canon, Sunrises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Noct and Ignis greet the dawn.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Points of Contact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [titansatemysoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titansatemysoul/gifts).



> This is a belated birthday gift /o\

Dawn rolls up the far-off hills, and with the first glimmer of molten sun at the crest it spills down into the valley. The last two stars in the west fade away, the sky an expanse of unbleached linen, heating up to reveal a clear high blue. First light brings the world back, shrinks the darkness into shadows. There are no daemons here and there never will be again, but Noct is grateful for the light and the life it brings.

Birds call from the trees, a jogger passes along the lane at the foot of the garden, a crisp green scent rises from herbs, weeds, flowers, thick moist moss yearning for toes. He stands on the porch and takes this symphony of life in, breathing and breathing, trying to swallow the rising wind whole.

He's alive.

The truth of it fills him with a terrible joy. Every detail revealed as the sun pulls back the curtain of the night makes him want, floods him with desire, has him itching to run and embrace the world. He doesn't want to remember the path of destiny that killed him; the thought of his rebirth being a blessing of the gods makes him want to scrub his own skin off. He yearns to be free of expectations. He walks down the wooden stairs, leaving footprints in the dew, and walks barefoot down to the gate.

Nothing stops him. He could keep going. Some mornings he gets as far as the fork in the lane to the east, or goes west to stand at the center of the bridge over the wide slow slide of the river.

He makes the choice to turn back to the house, the wet hems of his pajama pants clinging to his ankles and his feet adorned with a confetti of cut grass. He chooses to go _home_ ; if his heart is tethered here, it's because he tied the knots himself.

*

Ignis wakes with a start when he hears the front door close. The bedroom is still dark to his eyes; he chooses familiar amusement – that somehow Bahamut transformed Noct into an early riser – over the pernicious choking fear that he'll lose Noct again. He slides out from the warm quilt, setting his feet on the cold shock of floorboards, and stands, stretching. The breeze on his bare skin raises goosebumps, but he's loathe to close the windows. He wants to smell the change in the atmosphere when the sun rises, heralded by choruses of birds and insects.

Noct's lovemaking has left him with bruises and sore muscles. He finds as many of those clandestine reminders as he can while he dresses, pressing each until it releases a spark of memory, inscribed on his body.

Noct is alive, and not gone. He died, but – as Prompto says – he got better.

Brushing away unworthy thoughts, he heads for the kitchen, feet and face bare. Despite everything, Noct says he likes to see his eyes, and who is he to refuse so simple a request?

He finds bread in the breadbox, eggs in the basket, the frying pan on its hook, the kettle he'd filled the night before already on the hob. This efficiency pleases him; he prepares breakfast with practiced confidence. As he works, the room brightens. His imagination paints the floor with warm puddles of sunlight, the same light dappling the trees. Birds take wing.

He's grateful every day for Noct's survival, which allows him to enjoy the rising sun. Noct tells him he'd have wanted Ignis to see the sun as his legacy, if he'd died. _His curse_ , Ignis has never yet retorted, but he thinks it.

He sets the food on the table. Makes tea. He is of course not waiting. He will never demand that Noct return to him, if one day he needs to leave. Noct's life is finally his own, and Ignis refuses to stand in the way of his freedom.

Sips his tea.

Hears the front door open, then close, and sets the mug down hastily as Noct's distinctive steps cross straight to him. Wet, he thinks, and probably tracking mud in, but he doesn't care.

"You were supposed to sleep in," Noct says, tone suggesting a wry smile. "Here, I got you something." He curls a cold hand around the back of Ignis' neck, and pulls him down for a kiss.

Ignis leans into it willingly, wrapping Noct up in his arms, worries displaced by a rush of protectiveness and desire. Noct smells fresh: he's brought the sunlight inside on his skin and hair, and Ignis pictures him surrounded by a radiant halo.

Noct ends the kiss with a breath of laughter, settling back but not breaking the circle of Ignis' arms. "I want to take you upstairs, but I'm also starving." He shrugs. "Unlike you, breakfast won't be hot forever."

Ignis tries to hide his smile as he says, "How flattering," which Noct answers by giving his arse a squeeze.

They carry the table and chairs out to the porch, so Noct can point out all the things he saw on his morning wander. The vines that climb the fence are flowering, pink and purple blossoms humming with honeybees. Their garden needs weeding again. Noct's fairly sure the birds nesting in the big tree have claimed ownership of their clothesline as well.

Under the table, his foot rests on Ignis', distracting him.

"I can wake you up tomorrow," Noct offers. "We can go out together, if you want." He taps Ignis' hand in question.

"I'd like that," Ignis says, turning his face from the sunlit garden to Noct. He loves him so much, and he wishes he could see him again, even once.

But Noct gets up and drapes himself over Ignis' back, heavy and awkward, the weight of life, hands warm against his stomach and leaving a trail of toast-crumb kisses along his scarred cheek. More than enough, Ignis thinks, kissing Noct back: the promise of endless dawns, together.


End file.
